You Don't Know Me At All
by SummerLove16
Summary: The reason Sam left for Stanford. He tried to stay gone. Four years later, he knows better, but Dean is such a pretty mess, lost without his father. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

Hi kids, this is a one-shot that may become more (depending on reviews!). Based off the song "You Don't Know Me At All", Don Henley.

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Thoughts of their final fight still made Sam's stomach clench. The fight that had torn the family apart, the fight that had ended with his father telling him that if he left, he should stay gone. And he had. God, how he had tried to stay gone.

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_"Stanford, Sammy?"_

_There were so many questions written in Dean's eyes as his brother confessed his bittersweet secret, showed him the acceptance letter with shaking hands. The bewilderment in Dean's eyes was mixed with hurt. Sam sighed._

"_I'm not going, of course...I mean, we're brothers, right? Dad...well, Dad would never forgive me. I just thought..."_

_Dean nodded. Their father had beaten bruises across Sam's skin on more than one drunken night as they grew up, the angel patterns spreading over pure muscle beneath Sam's summer kissed skin. Once, when Sam had asked about staying somewhere permanently after a particularly difficult hunt, John had beaten him unconscious on the dirty floor of the motel room, leaving Dean to wipe away the blood and tears long after he had gone. Sam fantasized about normality every night, imagined what it would be like to fall in love, to trust someone who wasn't his older brother..._

_ "Yeah, I know, Sammy. You just wanted to be normal."_

_Sam nodded quietly, his green eyes shimmering with unstated emotion. They both jumped as the motel room door banged open. Dean quickly slid the letter into his back pocket. John walked in, threw a file at Sam, his eyes stormy and dangerously lit._

_ "Looks like you have an excuse to leave after all, pretty boy."_

_John snorted, glaring down at Sam. Sam opened the file with frozen fingers, fear making his normally steady fingers tremble. As he had gotten older, filled out his coltish form with solid muscle, he could have easily taken his father out. He had never fought back against John, though. _

_ "W-what is this?"  
Dean cringed as Sam's voice broke. His father snickered, whiskey wafting over them in a sickly sweet cloud._

_ "Adoption papers, Sammy-boy. Turns out, you're not even my fucking kid."_

_Dean's stomach clenched at the look in Sam's eyes. John leaned in very close, his black eyes focused on Sam,_

_ "But let me make one thing very clear. If you leave, you will not be coming back."_

_Sam flinched, but didn't pull away. He had learned quickly that resisting only meant John would hit him that much harder. John laughed at the helpless expression on his face, and something gave inside of Sam._

_ "I got accepted to Stanford. Full ride."_

_Sam's breath barely above a whisper. John looked his son over carefully, his eyes glossing dangerously,_

"_What the fuck were you doing applying to college? Didn't I raise you right? Don't you feel even a little bit guilty for your mother's death?"_

_Sam's eyes glittered as he raised his head to look at John,_

_ "I guess it turns out she wasn't my mother."_

_John backhanded him across the face, his head snapping back with the force of the stinging handprint—hardly unexpected. _

_ "Get the fuck out of my motel room. You have an hour. If you're not gone, I'll kill you."_

_..._

_Sam didn't even flinch as the door slammed closed, shaking the walls as John stormed out of the room. Dean turned to look at him, his eyes lit with shadows. Sam took a deep breath, tossing clothes into his duffel bag—dirty, clean, his, Dean's. Dean's hand on his arm stopped him._

_ "Sam..."_

_Sam turned to look at him. His gaze softened at the look in Dean's eyes._

_ "I guess now I have an excuse to leave."_

"_Sammy...no. She's still your mother, she raised you as a son. She's still the woman you call mom."_

_A shadow passed over Sam's eyes, the green momentarily eclipsed by the darkness of his emotion._

"_No, Dean...she's the woman you called mom. I killed her before I even got to meet her, remember?"_

_ "You didn't kill her. She loved you. I love you. Please, Sam..."_

_Sam shook his head._

"_You don't get it Dean...I feel so dirty. Dirty all the way down, just like this fucking town. I'm sick of sitting in limbo, sick of just trying to reach the end of the day sane..."_

_Dean flinched, withdrawing his hand from Sam's arm. Sam ignored the sparks of heat his handprint left against his skin. Didn't mention that part of the reason he felt so dirty were the feelings he kept hidden from the world. Kept hidden because it was wrong to love your brother like that...but they weren't brothers anymore. Sam kept his face carefully blank, closed the curtains over his darkest secret,_

"_Dean...I've given you everything. I put the walls up, pushed everything down—the Winchester way, right? I learned to confess. I've told you everything, but I can't keep living a lie like this."_

_Sam's voice was rough, his eyes glittering with unshed tears._

"_Please. Try to understand. After all these years, all the twisted roads we've travelled down together? Dean, it's time to say good-bye."_

_His voice broke as he zipped up the duffel bag with shaking fingers._

_ "That's it, Sam? This is goodbye?" _

_Dean's voice was harsher than he intended it, his words sparking Sam's defence mechanism._

"_Fuck you, Dean. You don't know what it's like. Dad's never hit you. Never called you a murderer while he beat you into the fucking floor of whatever motel room."_

_ "Is that what this is about? Dad getting angry when he's drunk?"_

"_Not just angry, Dean! Abusive! Dad's injured me more times than anything we've ever hunted!"_

_Dean blanched at Sam's blatant truth, his eyes recounting every scar visible on Sam's body._

"_And that's an excuse to walk out on your family? Walk out on me?"_

"_Maybe if you were there to protect me from Dad, Dean. Maybe if he had even once raised his hand to you—"_

"_Maybe I don't deserve to get hit, Sam!"_

_Silence dropped suddenly over them. Silent tears spilled over Sam's pronounced cheekbones as he yanked the duffel bag over his shoulder._

_ "Fuck you, Dean."_

_Slipped away into the night as the Impala roared back into the parking lot, his heart aching for the brother he had left behind._

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And God, how he had tried to push those feelings for Dean down. He tried alcohol, but couldn't quite bring himself to use his father's favourite excuse for violence to dull the pain. Tried drugs, but found little solace in the mind numbing dances the junkies did with the devil. Had tried to fill the void—guys, girls, a string of one night stands, eventually settling on Jessica, her blonde hair contrasting with his tanned skin, her blue eyes never questioning too deeply. When the night got too dark, too lonely, Sam wrapped himself in the old shirt of Dean's he had thrown into the duffel bag as he left that night, now tight across his shoulders, and tried to imagine Dean's smell—earthy, pungent leather ghosting with sweat and the heady, spicy scent that was only Dean's. Sam didn't even cry anymore when he realized he had used the scent up in the shirt, that his brother was gone. Sam had adjusted to normal life.

But then Dean had shown up. Stolen Sam's breath away with his velvet voice, rough but slick as honey as his tongue caressed the language. Sam had known better, but Dean was such a pretty mess, lost without his father. So he got into the car, worked the case, tried to memorize every detail of Dean, every piece of his body, voice and smell, because Sam was going to law school, the ultimate act of normalcy, and soon his childhood would be nothing but a forgotten memory. Even Dean, with his beautiful eyes and stunning body, would be nothing but a hazy memory of lust. And then Azazel had struck once more.

Now Sam's piece of normal was gone. Jess was dead, and he was suddenly faced with a choice: Face his darkest secrets, or try to rebuild the plastic world he had been living in.

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Please review, kids! Reviews are better than candy. (: I wonder what Dean was doing while Sammy was off at school "adjusting"?


	2. Chapter 2

Hi kids! Again, please review... I love hearing what you guys think! This is what Dean was doing while Sammy was away at school.

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Four years apart, and the haunted look in Sam's eyes was still breaking Dean's heart. Dean had tried to move on. Tried to forget the way his brother's skin blossomed with angel wings as his father beat him. Tried to forget the way he had stood still. Frozen. Dean had tried to forget the pain that ripped his heart into shreds when Sam walked out that door.

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_"Maybe I don't deserve to get hit, Sam!"_

_Silence dropped suddenly over them. Silent tears spilled over Sam's pronounced cheekbones as he yanked the duffel bag over his shoulder. _

_ "Fuck you, Dean."_

_Dean flinched as the motel room door slammed behind his baby brother. Regret washed over Dean in a vicious tide. If he'd never said those things to Sam, hadn't let the words fall from his mouth—violent, just like John—Sam would have stayed. He was the perfect little soldier, his father's words echoing in his head even now—Sam deserved this, Sam was a problem that needed to be taken care of. How could he have said that to Sam? Dean felt the worthlessness he always felt watching John hit Sam cut through his heart. Worthlessness because he had always failed to protect his brother...but they weren't brothers anymore. Dean surveyed the contents of the folder with shaking hands. John hadn't been lying—Sam had been adopted in 1983. Dean threw the folder on the floor, watching as the papers scattered across the dingy carpet. His hands shook, his breathing shallow. He needed to forget. The Impala beckoned from the parking lot._

_..._

_The club was dirty, glitter on every surface and a sound system that said there may have been a party here, once upon a time. Dean didn't care, he was just looking to get drunk. Looking to escape. Looking for a way to take the hit for Sam. His beautiful younger brother, who didn't even know. Dean ordered shots, and took them with beer as chase. He thought back over the twisted roads that they'd been down together, the creatures, his father, the mess their lives had become. Helplessness skittered across his eyes, making them shine with desperation. More shots, and his eyes showed nothing but black, from pupils blown so wide with the desire to forget. _

_ "Hey pretty boy, you wanna get outta here?"  
His stomach dropped as his father's nickname for Sam entered his ears on hot, wasted breath, slick hands slipping under the hem of Dean's shirt. It wasn't the first time he had been propositioned by a man, but it was the first time he couldn't bring himself to care. He turned around to tell the man to fuck off, but the dangerous glint in the man's eyes stopped him. This stranger would hurt him, he was certain of that...but this time he would be the pretty boy. He'd take the hit for Sam._

_ "Yeah, okay."_

_Slurred speech, and Dean realized he had been drinking for hours. Dangerous, probably. Maybe this man would kill him. Maybe he could forget the way his hands felt on Sam's skin. Maybe he could forget the way his baby brother called out for him in the night. God, he felt dirty. Maybe since they weren't brothers, Sam could forgive him...but he doubted Sam would see it that way._

_The brick was rough and hard against Dean's back, the wind knocked from his lungs as the man slammed him into the wall of the grimy alleyway behind the bar. Graffiti lined the walls, dim lit by the single, flickering streetlight. Women, prostitutes, lurked in the shadows, and Dean suddenly wasn't sure he could go through with this. The man pinned by his wrists with iron grip, and although Dean knew there would be bruises, he didn't struggle. Didn't struggle as the man bit into his neck hard enough to draw blood. Didn't struggle as his shirt was ripped open, fingernails leaving track marks down his arms, across his back. Didn't start to struggle until the man undid his belt, and yanked his pants down around his knees. Dean realized he was in trouble as fingers dug into his hipbones, pulling him up._

_ "W-wait, please..."_

_Low, a keening groan more than anything, as his fingers scrabbled to find purchase against the dirty wall. _

_ "Whatsa matter, pretty? You gonna chicken out on me now?"_

_Harsh, rough with desire words that made Dean's stomach drop. The man's fingers gripped tighter on his hips, and Dean could see the dirt under his fingernails. His stomach churned. Dean realized he didn't even know the stranger's name._

_ "Please, I just..."_

_The man snickered._

_ "Just what? Is it your first time with a guy, pretty?"_

_Dean nodded, desperately willing the man to let go. He didn't, instead using one leg to slam Dean's legs apart while still pinning his wrists to the wall. His breath was hot against Dean's ear,_

_ "Don't worry, pretty boy. I'll be gentle. I promise."_

_Dean bit his lip to keep from screaming as the man slammed inside of him, ripping him open, blood spilling from somewhere deep inside. Even as his hunter's instincts kicked in, Dean knew he wouldn't be able to escape. He was too drunk, too weak for this. The man pounded against him, abusing his flesh, slamming his head against the wall with each thrust. Dean closed his eyes, feeling the too-familiar burn of tears for his brother, and tried to detach from his body._

_ "I'm sorry, Sammy...I'm so sorry."_

_All those nights, all the shitty motel rooms, every hit his brother ever took, washed over Dean as the world slid away into black. _

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After the night in the alley, Dean was careful. He always made sure he was in control of his fucks, his body. Never allowed anyone else to have the upper hand again. John wondered, questioned him, but Dean never told a soul. He kept tabs on Sam, knew he was applying to law school, knew he had a girlfriend. Had to fight the bitter tang of jealousy that shot through him at the thought of Sam with someone else, but shoved his feelings down, because where the hell would that get him anyways? Dean flirted with women, fucked other men—always the same boy, hazel eyes, dirty brown hair, dimples...he moved on from Sam. He worked his way through a string of alcohol induced one night stands that would put the devil to shame and moved on. Hunted fearlessly, recklessly even, put his world back together, and learned to trust his father again.

He knew Sam had only worked the case with him because he was afraid of what Jess would say if she knew. Knew Sam was preparing to forget him forever. But somehow, Dean couldn't bring himself to care. He knew he was flirting with danger as he laced every word with sweetness, the kind that talked every girl he'd ever met into bed. But Sammy, with his eyes, and dimples, and the body he'd filled out while he'd been away...it would be devastating when Sam left him again. But then Jess had been killed.

And tonight, with Sammy sitting in his passenger seat, his eyes so haunted, his little piece of normal taken away, Dean couldn't help but feel the rush of old emotions coming back, undoubtedly reflecting in his eyes. Things were different now.

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Pleasie please review everybody. I'm going home for Christmas break, so I won't be updating until January! ): In the meantime, happy holidays kids! (:


	3. Chapter 3

Hi everybody! Hope you guys all had a wonderful holiday season! I'm so excited to be back to this story, and I'm looking forward to hearing what you guys think!

...

At first, Sam told himself that the fantasies he harboured were just a way of dealing with Jess's death. But the days had begun to bleed together, and through the fog of lust and pain, and Sam realized that he had never loved Jess. Not really. He had loved the way she made him feel, had been head over heels for the idea of being with her, and most definitely in love with law school and normality...but not in love with Jess. He should have known. Should have registered the way he didn't miss her when she wasn't around...hadn't struggled with jealousy, either. But he had been good to her. Vanilla sex, a homecooked meal once in a while, and Jess had been happy. Sam snickered. He doubted boring sex and eggplant parmesan would make Dean happy. Of course, he shouldn't care what made Dean happy. Because Dean would never care about him that way. Ever. The graphic dreams, the stolen looks...Sam felt guilty every time he looked at Dean, every time he woke up with lust blown eyes and shaking hands.

...

"I'm going to sleep. Any way you could turn that off?"

Sam pulled the sheet up over his bare chest, his hazel eyes on Dean. Dean rolled his eyes, but muted the sound on the graphic porn that was playing on the TV. A busty blonde moaned softly as a brunette traced her tongue down the blonde's neck, working lower. See, Sam realized, this is what Dean likes. What turns him on. This is why he could never see you as more than a brother.

"Sure, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

Dean snickered, turning to look at him in the TV-blue lit room.

"Nah. Sammy suits you better."

Sam sighed, trying not to look into Dean's eyes, because that always got him into trouble.

"It makes me sound like a kid, Dean."

Dean shook his head,

"No, it doesn't. It makes it sound like somebody cares enough about you to nickname you."

His words barely above a sigh, a whispered confession. Sam inhaled sharply as he felt warmth course through him. Looked straight into Dean's eyes, and saw guilt mixed with love, and something more written there. Dean dropped his gaze. The something else, the thing Sam couldn't quite place haunted him as he dropped off into a restless sleep.

...

_Dean bit down hard on his collar bone, drawing blood to the surface, slicking his lips with cherry. Sam moaned, pulling him down to kiss him, tasting the metallic tang in his mouth as Dean's tongue caressed him, his hands sliding down the planes of Sam's chest. Sliding lower, the weight of his body pressing against Sam, shivers sliding through him as Dean reached for his weeping cock..._

"Dude, get up. We need to get going."

Sam jolted into consciousness, Dean's emerald eyes the first thing he registered. Right. Because his normal was gone. Jess was gone. He took a deep breath, tried to steady himself. Tried to reign in the lust that had no doubt blown his pupils wide open, and had his cock straining against his pajama pants. Mostly, though, Sam tried to ignore the sizzle of electricity that passed through him at Dean's touch against his arm. Guilt washed over him. He shouldn't feel this way. Not about the man he had known all his life as his brother.

"I'm up, I'm up. Get the hell off me."

Dean was slow to move, watching Sam, trying to determine his mood. There was something in Sam's eyes, something Dean had seen before—never directed at him—but something he couldn't quite place, never the less. He lifted one hand to feel Sam's forehead, taking in his glassy eyes, his flushed cheeks.

"You okay, bro?"

Sam jerked back, trying not to feel the delicious roughness of Dean's hands on him. Guilt swelled, but faded under the flash of pleasure.

"I'm not your brother. And yeah, I'm fine, would you get offa me?"

Dean dropped his hand.

"Yeah...I guess you're not."

And I'm not sorry at all, Dean realized, as he watched Sam walk into the bathroom without looking back. His body hummed with the electric feeling of touching Sam's skin. When Sam came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, hung low around his hips, Dean muttered profanities, and walked quickly out the door as his jeans tightened at the sight of Sam's muscles, dripping wet, and driving him crazy. How the fuck was he supposed to concentrate, when his baby brother had become sex walking? A tide of shame swept over him. His baby brother...

...

"So. This thing in Connecticut. What's the theory so far?"

Dean fought to keep his voice even as Sam turned his hazel eyes onto him, away from the computer screen.

"Well, so far, it looks like some kind of demon, maybe? Something nasty. Something that likes to spill people's darkest secrets."

"And then kill them...peachy."

Dean nodded, turning his attention back to his breakfast. Sam frowned, resting his chin in one hand as Dean ate. Greasy diner food this early had always been more than his stomach could handle. Dean, however, shovelled a mouthful of pancake into his mouth before speaking again.

"You sure you're alright, Sammy? You seemed a little off this morning."

Sam nodded, only half paying attention to Dean.

"Mhmm, yeah. I'm fine. I was just having this dream..."

"Ahahahaha, so that's what all the moaning was about. You gotta quit thinking about me that way, Sammy."

Dean snickered, shoving the last piece of sausage into his mouth. He missed the way Sam flushed bright red at his teasing, quickly turning back to the computer. Snatching up the keys, he kicked Sam under the table.

"Come on, lover-boy. Let's get outta here."

...

Dean glanced over at Sam, sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat, his full lips parted. Sam hadn't reacted to his teasing this morning. Only flushed, and told Dean to hurry up. _Get a move on, asshole, or we're never gonna get outta here. _ Dean wondered if Sam was coming down with something, the sleeping, the strange behaviour...he was still trying to place the look in Sam's eyes this morning. Glancing at Sam again, Dean thought of the way those full lips would feel, pressed against his own. Had to bite back a groan at the thought of Sam swallowing around him. He reached over, with every intention of waking Sam, but instead ran one finger along Sam's jaw, almost running his thumb across Sam's bottom lip...Sam shifted, and Dean jerked back, thinking he'd woken him. A wave of shame washed over Dean. He shouldn't be touching Sam that way anyways. This was his Sammy. He should be protecting him... but instead of waking, Sam ran his tongue along his bottom lip, and sighed, snuggling into the Impala's seat. A rush of oncoming headlights and the honk of a horn broke Dean from Sam's spell. He leaned over the seat, shaking Sam awake. Ignored the flash of heat, because if he didn't, Dean knew the guilt would swallow him whole.

"Wake up, kiddo. We're almost there."

Sam blinked into awareness just as they passed the wooden sign welcoming them to the small town of Lakehurst.

...

Five tense days in a shitty hotel room later, snarky from close quarters and unresolved sexual tension, Sam threw Dean's coat at him.

"Let's go. That warehouse? Let's check it out."

"We don't even know-"

"We might never know! Jesus, let's just go look around a little."

Dean rolled his eyes, but shrugged his leather jacket over his shoulders.

"Fine."

Sam paced anxiously as Dean sat on the edge of the bed, tying his boots. The yellow, flowered pattern on the bed was a stark contrast to his dark jacket, dark jeans, and dark boots. Stuck out like a sore thumb, Sam thought, snickering to himself. Dean glared at him. Even in his anger, Sam felt a rush of heat as Dean's eyes passed over him. There were mirrors, on the ceiling above the beds. Sam bit his lip hard, trying to block out the thought of watching their bodies move in sync, sliding together. The flash of heat was followed by a wave of guilt.

"Let's go. Move it, Dean."  
His voice deeper, huskier and raw. Dean looked at him questioningly, but followed without complaint.

...

"So. What's our gameplan?"

Dean turned to look at Sam, face half-lit by the streetlights beside the abandoned warehouse. Even in the half light, Dean admired Sam's beauty, his stomach dancing with butterflies as he thought of what they were about to face.

"We catch this thing. Get some information out of it, hopefully...and then we kill it."

Sam's eyes were dilated, taking in the shadows of the alleyway. He was jumpy, sketched out and nervous, the way he was before every hunt, like a junkie coming down. Dean hated him like this, hated the fear running through his veins. Hated that he hadn't been able to protect Sam. Dean forced his feelings down, swallowing hard against the too-familiar burn of tears.

"You sure you want to go first?"  
Questioning Sam only because he wanted—needed—to protect Sam. Sam nodded.

"It'll be fine, Dean."

Sam crept through the half-open door, entering the warehouse with his gun poised, silver knife in the waistband of his pants just in case this wasn't what they thought it was. Dean followed him down the dark maze of hallways, eyes searching, senses keened. Something crashed behind them, paint cans clattering to the floor, red paint spilling across the cement. Dean whirled to look. When he turned back, Sam was gone.

...

Oh dear...poor Dean. I promise (promise) I'll update soon (like tonight, or maybe tomorrow). (: Please review, kids! Reviews make me write faster.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! You're reviews are so lovely, I appreciate them so much! Thank you for all your comments. (:

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"Sammy! Damn it, Sam, answer me! Sammy!"

Dean's voice broke, his throat raw as he screamed for Sam. Three floors of warehouse, each filled with twisting corridors and tiny rooms...the knife in Dean's heart twisted as he thought of what could be happening to Sam. He should have gone first. Should have known better. Because Sam, Sam was worth more than he was. Dean kicked open the first door he saw, but found nothing but empty space inside. Guilt washed over him. What if he couldn't find Sam? What if he was too late? Dean refused to let that thought bring him to his knees, running down the hallway, kicking each door open. He would find Sam. He would find his baby brother, even if it killed him.

...

"Well, well, you are a pretty boy...so dirty...but so beautiful."

Sam blinked into hazy consciousness, his entire body aching. His arms were bound over his head, his mouth gagged with cloth that tasted slightly dusty, the flavour of dirt rolling on his tongue. His body was suspended, his feet just barely resting against the floor. Looking down, Sam realized his shirt had been torn down the middle, his well defined muscles on display for the world to see. His shoulders burned with the weight of his body as he writhed against the scratchy rope, trying to get a look at the creature in the small space.

"And the secrets you're carrying..."

Sam rocked backwards, swinging wildly from the ceiling. The creature finally came into his field of vision, eyes a glittering coal black.

"Don't worry, pretty."

Sam flinched, every drunken, motel room night in his life washing over him. The creature laughed, a high, piercing sound that cut through Sam's heart.

"You don't miss your daddy, do you?"

The creature ran one hand down his chest, clawed fingers scraping over planes of muscle.

"But then, that's not really a secret, is it?"

Sam yanked harder against the ropes that held him, desperate to be free. He didn't want to hear this, didn't want to hear his darkest secrets laid down in front of him.

"But that girl...you never really loved her. Used her shamelessly, really."

More laughter. More touching. Sam bit his lip, tasted blood with the effort not to scream. Not that there was anyone to hear him.

"Used her, threw her out like trash...all to cover up the way you feel..."

The creature picked up a knife, ran it over Sam's ribs. Blood trickled down his stomach, ran in fiery stains in the waistband of his jeans. Sam thrashed violently, feeling the burn of desperate tears beginning in the back of his throat.

"And of course, you still feel guilty, don't you, Sam? Killed your mother, oh yes..."

The creature's eyes glittered with excitement.

"But that's not all. There's more..."

Sam closed his eyes, trying not to feel at all. Thought of Dean, his smile, the way he laughed. Sam tried to hold on to his sanity.

"Tell me your darkest secret, Sammy. Tell me, so I can set you free."

Sam's stomach dropped at the creature's use of Dean's nickname for him. The creature ran the knife across his chest, pressing a little harder, creating another line of red. Blood gushed over Sam's stomach, glistening cherry rivers pooling into the fabric of his jeans. The creature—it's skin was almost translucent in the half-light, Sam realized—untied the cloth that was gagging him, muttering to itself.

"Wouldn't normally do this, but pretty, so pretty...I want to hear you say it. Hear you scream..."

"Dean! DEAN!"

Sam immediately began to scream for Dean. The creature slapped one hand over his mouth, a choking metallic scent invading Sam's senses.

"No, no, no, pretty boy. I want to hear your secret. Tell me."

"Why the fuck would I tell you anything? So you can kill me?"

The creature placed the blade against Sam's throat.

"No. Because if you don't, I will make you beg for death, Sammy."

Sam shook his head vehemently.

"I have nothing to tell you."

The creature smirked, its eyes glimmering like jewels.

"Fine."  
...

Sam's screams echoed off the walls. Burn marks lined his arms, cuts, each one deeper than the last covering his ribs and chest. His screams were deep, almost inhuman, as he thrashed against his bonds to get away. It felt like hours, but it might have only been minutes since the creature had begun its torture. Sam's throat was raw, his eyes glassy, his cheeks flushed.

"Tell me."  
The creature pressed the knife into Sam's hipbone, carving into the flesh.

"N-no! Dean will find me, you son of a bitch. He'll find me, and he'll k-kill you."  
Sam's voice sounded weak, even to his own ears.

"Or...he'll never find you. Just tell me, Sammy. I want to hear you say it. Tell me all about the things you think about in the dark. About your brother..."

Sam bit down on his lip hard. Tasted blood.

"He's not my brother."

The creature's broken glass laughter stung as it slid over his skin.

"Oh Sammy. Is that what you tell yourself? Some adoption papers, and suddenly the man you've known as your brother all your life isn't anymore?"

Sam fought not to cry. Knew that for once in his life, the monster in the dark wasn't just messing with his head, because this monster, whatever it was, wasn't lying. His justification for his feelings was irrelevant. Dean would never, ever forgive him. The creature ran its fingers over his bloody chest, stinging as they passed over each cut. Sam could feel dizziness washing over him. His body couldn't take much more of this, much more blood loss, before he would pass out. The creature began to slice a pattern down one shoulder. Sam screamed, tasting blood in his mouth.

"Just tell me, Sammy..."

Sam could feel himself cracking, falling apart down the centre. His body ached, fire spreading through every limb. His eyes were glassy, half lit with panic and desperation. He couldn't hold on to his secrets much longer.

"Tell me all about Dean, Sammy..."

More knife-carved patterns down his back. More screams. The creature seemed to sense it when Sam finally broke, before his words began to pour out of him in a senseless babble.

"I-I want him. I always have. He's my everything, always has been. And I can't—I can't stop feeling this way about him. Can't stop the dreams, the fantasies...I've tried for years, but I'm tired. I'm so tired."

Tears streamed down Sam's cheeks, hysteria dragging him under as he confessed.

"I want to fuck my big brother, and he'll never forgive me."

The creature laughed, eyes glittering.

"Oh Sammy...you're wrong, you know. Dean could forgive you. But he could never forgive himself."

Sam was past the point of coherency, though, babbling senselessly, unable to register anything around him.

"It's always him and me, always has been, and our dad...Dean should have protected me. I need him, I needed him then, after John..."

Secrets spilled like ink from Sam's lips, dark, staining him. He barely registered Dean, kicking in the door, aiming the gun at the creature, its eyes suddenly frightened.

"I want him to—to touch me. To hold me like he used to, when we were kids. I need him to...please, please..."

And the creature was right, Sam was begging for death, even as the bullet sliced through the creature's head, sending it to the floor in a crumpled heap of smoking flesh. Begging for death, confessing his secrets, as Dean cut him down from the ceiling, cradled him in his arms on the floor, feeling like his heart was breaking.

"Sammy...Sammy, shhh. It's okay, I got you."

Sam vaguely realized the burning in his arms was lessening. Felt the call back from the edge of insanity by the familiar voice. Dean traced his fingers over Sam's skin, each cut and burn making his heart ached.

"God, Sammy, what did that thing do to you?"

Sam turned glassy eyes to look at Dean, but Dean wasn't sure if Sam registered him at all.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm so, so s-sorry."

Sam's voice broke, shattered glass against Dean's already frayed nerves. He pulled Sam closer into his body.

"Sorry for what, Sammy? You've got nothing to be sorry for..."

Sam sobbed, shaking against Dean.

"I'm sorry for the way I feel about you. The things I can't stop thinking about..."

Dean took a deep breath, his stomach flipping ominously. Surely Sam didn't mean...

"Sammy..."

Dean felt his own confession melting on his tongue, but couldn't form the words. Sam needed medical care. Not some half-assed confession of love, not the kiss Dean longed to press against his chapped, bloodstained lips. Dean swallowed hard. Sam's exhaustion was so deep, perhaps he wouldn't remember in the morning anyways. And then where would they be? With his heart breaking, Dean lifted Sam off the floor, half carried, half dragged him back to the Impala, and buckled him into the front seat.

"Come on, baby boy...let's get you back to the motel."

Dean wasn't expecting it when Sam looked over at him, locked eyes with him, hazel meeting green, the brief moment of sanity showing in Sam's eyes. Wasn't expecting the final confession that melted from Sam's lips,

"Dean...I love you."

And Sam slipped away into unconsciousness in the passenger seat, his eyes fluttering closed as his body shut down.

...

Thanks for reading! Please review! (:


	5. Chapter 5

Hey everybody! So, I'm fairly sure school is trying to kill me this semester...I apologize in advance as my updates will probably be dropping off. ): But please keep reviewing! Reviews honestly inspire me, because I know someone is reading! (They also make me update faster, but, you know...).

... ...

Days bled into weeks. Sometimes, Sam wondered if he had spoken at all, if he hadn't imagined confessing that night as he fell into Dean's arms. But Dean...an impenetrable distance lay between them, and Sam had no idea how to bridge the gap. His wounds were mostly healed, stitches removed to leave angry, pink scars that Sam ran his fingers across as he was falling asleep at night. Ran his hands over them because they were the only physical reminder that the night so many weeks ago had happened.

"Hey, Sam, I'm gonna go get dinner. You want something?"

Sam's stomach dropped at the way Dean called him Sam instead of Sammy, the way he had for weeks. _Someone cares enough to give you a nickname_, Sam thought. _Not when it's the brother you confessed to love_, the voice in his head answered.

"Nah. I'm not really that hungry."

It was hardly a lie. Sam hadn't felt hungry for days, seeing the walls in Dean's eyes. Each look into his eyes, the expression dead within them, made Sam's chest ache with guilt. If he had been able to just hang on, to push his secrets down. God knew he had enough practice at it. But the worst part of it was the incoherent confession from the passenger seat. The confession that had come from the way Dean had touched him that night, the look in his eyes as he had carried Sam to the car. But Sam had miscalculated, and now Dean was too far away to reach. Dean shrugged, grabbing the keys off the bedside table, walking out of the room without a backwards glance. Sam took a deep, steadying breath, wishing Dean would _talk _to him. His body had recovered from that night, but Sam wasn't sure their relationship ever would.

...

Dean returned with a double bacon cheeseburger and chilli fries. Sam's stomach churned from the smell of the grease alone. He watched silently as Dean ate, licking his fingers clean as he finished, making a rush of heat pass through Sam's body, despite the cold that had captured them for weeks. Dean caught him watching and snickered,

"Sure you don't want something, dude?"

Sam shook his head, his hair falling messily over his eyes. Dean felt his heart drop at the loss of Sam's beautiful hazel eyes, despite the sadness that was swimming in them. He wanted to bring Sam's semi-conscious confession up, wanted to demand answers from him, wanted, more than anything, to press a kiss to Sam's lips as he had longed to that night, but he didn't. Sam hadn't brought it up. He probably didn't even remember, lost in the fog of pain and unconsciousness. Dean was glad that he hadn't let his own confession fall from his lips. As it was, it was a struggle just to look Sam in the eye.

"Dean..."

Dean steeled himself, before looking up at Sam, looking into the hazel depths of his eyes, wincing at the grief that he found there.

"Yeah? What's up?"  
Forced his tone to remain light, forced the semi-innocent light into his eyes. Sam bit his lip, blood pearling before he swept it away with his tongue. Dean tried not to groan. Sam moved to sit on the other bed, tucking his legs up underneath him, staring intently at Dean.

"Dean, I...we have to talk."

Sam felt his stomach flip, looking into Dean's eyes, and he was suddenly very glad he had skipped dinner.

"'Bout what?"  
The innocence Dean forced into his tone made him want to cry. It felt tangy and metallic in his mouth, foreign, because he never lied to Sam. The look in Sam's eyes was a crushing reminder of why.

"I...that night. That demon..."

Sam searched his face for any flash of remembrance, but found only one, buried deep in Dean's eyes. One anyone else would have missed, because they didn't know Dean the way he did, hadn't travelled the twisted roads and darkest nights with him. Dean looked away, his blazing green eyes dropping to the stained carpet.

"I know, Sam. You were...incoherent. You had no idea what you were saying. Just telling it what it wanted to hear."

A statement, not a question, forced brutally off Dean's tongue, leaving him brittle inside. Sam took a deep breath, steeling himself for what came next.

"Dean, I..."  
The admission that it wasn't true, the declaration of his guilt dissolving on his lips, Sam looked at Dean and realized he couldn't do it. Couldn't lose Dean, couldn't go back to living the way he had at Stanford—living a lie.

"Yeah...I...yeah. Telling it what it wanted to hear."

Sam muttered, struggling to keep his voice from breaking as tears threatened to swell his throat closed. He stood quickly, walking into the bathroom.

He locked the door behind him, despite the fact that it would hardly keep Dean out if he wanted in. Sam turned the shower on, undressing slowly in front of the mirror, tears spilling over high cheekbones to trace paths down scarred muscle, over the planes of his chest, over the newly removed stitches. Sam pushed his hair off his face, biting his lip until blood flooded his mouth. Dean could never love him. Sam didn't know why he had let himself think—even for that tiny second—that Dean could. Sam stepped into the shower and slid down the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees, trying to hold the pain inside.

"Sam? You okay?"

Dean's voice came through the door. Sam ignored him, his voice was pain drenched and broken, Dean would know immediately that he wasn't okay.

Dean knocked harder on the door, tears ghosting down his cheeks. The look in Sam's eyes had damn near broken his heart.

"Sam! Answer me!"

Dean flinched as his voice broke on the last word. Sam still refused to answer. Haunted by the look in his eyes, the what ifs that were flashing through his mind at lightening speed, Dean picked the lock in seconds. With shaking hands, he entered the bathroom.

"Damn it, Sam, when I call, you fucking answer me! What the hell are you thinking?"

Dean yanked back the shower curtain, his veins icing over as he took in Sam, curled against the edge of the bathtub beneath the spray of scalding water. Sam looked up at him with broken eyes.

"Fuck off, Dean."

His voice was cold, his words broken glass as they shattered through Dean.

"Then answer me when I fucking call you, Sam."

"Fuck you! I don't belong to you."

"You're my goddamn brother, Sam."

Sam choked on his tears, his shoulders shaking under the spray of the water.

"I'm not your brother. H-how can you even say that, when you can't even call m-me—can't even call me S-S-Sammy a-anym-more?"

Dean froze, feeling the hole Sam had torn through his chest gush as Sam, his Sammy, sobbed because he couldn't face the profound truth of that night. Because he couldn't talk to Sam. Because he hadn't countered Sam's confession of love—hell, he hadn't even acknowledged that Sam had spoken. Dean had done what he did best, burying his feelings as deeply as he could, slamming the doors shut over any thoughts he had about Sam. The guilt that he had buried swelled, threatening to pull him under as Sam stared up at him, his eyes accusing, red-rimmed with hurt and swimming with tears.

"I'm sorry, Dean. God, I'm so s-sorry. If I had just been able to hold on..."

"No, Sam, Sammy, it's okay. I know. You weren't—"

"No, Dean! I was. I knew what I was saying. Because it's true. I do love you. And I've wanted y-you...I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean bit his lip, trying desperately not to reach out for Sam.

"Sam, I—"

"Dean, please...I would never...I don't expect anything. I just...please. I can't lose you again."

Dean reached out with shaking hands for Sam's body, his skin slick and wet beneath rough fingers as Dean pulled Sam against him, soaking his clothes as the shower beat down, now lukewarm, on both of them.

"Sam, listen. I...you were injured. You were so...so weak. So damaged. And I...I didn't want...I couldn't tell you, and then..."

And then we ended up here, Dean realized, biting his lip. Sam looked up at him, his eyes dark with pain.

"Couldn't tell me?"

Dean nodded,

"Sam...I...I love you too. But it's...complicated. I..."

"How long?"

Sam closed his eyes, pulling away from Dean.

"How long?"  
"Yes, Dean, how long have you felt this way?"

"Since Stanford, Sammy."

Sam inhaled sharply, biting down hard on his already raw lip.

"Dean...I've wanted you since I was fourteen. And I knew it was wrong. I knew you could never feel the same way about me..."

"But I do."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The hand that wasn't pressed against Sam's skin clenched into a fist. Sam glanced questioningly at Dean as his body tensed.

"Because...because the night you left...I...I went to the bar, Sammy. He called me pretty boy..."

"Just like Dad used to do to me."

Sam murmered. Dean nodded,

"And I...what I said to you, I felt so guilty, so...I let him. And after...I got reckless. I needed to get over you, because I couldn't ever tell you how I felt. Sammy, I had to protect you from me."

Sam shook his head.

"I don't need your protection, Dean."

Dean wordlessly ran his fingertips over the lines of scarring on Sam's shoulder, tracing them down his back. Sam bit his lip.

"Dean...I love you. And I know what I want."

Dean snickered,

"You're just a kid, Sammy. How could you possibly know what you want?"

Sam leaned into Dean, sliding one hand across Dean's jaw, the other sliding into his hair. Sam's breath ghosted over Dean's lips, his eyes so dark they were almost black as he pressed their lips together. Heat seared through Dean, skipping over nerves, lighting his veins with fire as Sam kissed him. Sam moaned into Dean's mouth as Dean's lips parted, granting him deeper access to his mouth, Sam's tongue sweeping over his teeth, burning into him. Sam pulled away slowly, pressing his lips against Dean's ear,

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dean. Trust me."

... ... ... ... ...

Well. That was...angsty. Annnnnyways...it's about time these two got their shit together, hey? I'll try to update ASAP, please please review! (:


	6. Chapter 6

Hey everybody! So, I just wanted to say thanks for reading, I do appreciate it. And thanks to those who have reviewed, it means a lot to me! (:

So...the boys actually get it on in this chapter, so, you know, if it's not your thing, don't read it. (:

... ... ... ...

_Sam pulled away slowly, pressing his lips against Dean's ear,_

_"I'm not a kid anymore, Dean. Trust me."_

Dean shivered as Sam's breath brushed over his ear,

"Jesus, Sammy..."

His voice was rough and low, lit with desire that surprised him. Sam smirked, kissing him again. Dean had Sam out of the bathtub and onto the bed before Sam quite knew what was happening. His hands travelled to Dean's jeans, soaking wet from the shower, but Dean batted his hands away.

"One night, Sammy, I'm gonna make love to you. But not tonight. Tonight...it's too much. I just...wanna wait."

Dean kissed away his pleas, determined to leave his mark on Sam. He hadn't made out since high school—hadn't cared enough to explore anything other than a quick, cheap fuck. But with Sam...Hours passed as minutes, their lips meeting over and over again, tongues caressing, battling for dominance, submitting and dominating. The moon had risen well into the sky by the time they fell asleep, exhaustion overtaking passion as they fell asleep, limbs entangled, bodies pressed tight together.

...

Sam woke up before Dean, easing himself quietly out of the bed, his energy too much to contain. His lips were kiss swollen as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Kiss swollen lips, eyes still semi-glassy from the tears he had shed, but a new light hidden just below the startling hazel. Hope, Sam realized, as he pulled on sweat pants over his boxers. Sam pulled his teeshirt down over his stomach, crouching by the door to tie his running shoes. Dean slept peacefully, bearing the same kiss swollen lips as Sam, his face relaxed, his muscles soft beneath his skin. Sam paused as his fingers looped the familiar laces, watching Dean for half a second. People always looked more peaceful asleep, and Dean was the best example of this he had ever seen. The hard lines of worry, etched so permanently into his face during his waking hours, had faded into virtually nothing, his vibrant green eyes no longer swimming with hurt as he slept.

Sam didn't bother to leave a note, he had woken up like this many times before, carrying so much energy in his frame that he couldn't bear to stay still for another second, and Dean knew him well enough to know exactly where Sam was when he woke up. Sam's feet hit the pavement hard, the crisp fall air burning his lungs as he ran along the side of the road. Inhaling sharply, breath slicing down his throat like liquid ice. Muscles straining, screaming to stop, labouring to continue carrying him. Adrenaline rushing through his veins, flitting like fire, dancing like rain, pushing him harder, faster, stronger. He could hear his heartbeat, echoing in his ears, pounding like thunder as it slashed through his body. Sweat stung his eyes, rolling off him in rivers of silent pain, slicking his skin in diamonds in the early morning light. This, the feeling of pushing his body to its absolute limit, was the reason Sam loved to run. The feeling of nothing besides the pavement beneath his feet, nowhere to go but forwards, to a place where his ghosts couldn't catch up with him, was totally addicting.

Sam walked back to the motel slowly, caught up in his thoughts. He stopped at the tiny coffee shop across the street, and entered the motel room, coffees in hand. Dean was lying awake in bed, stretched out on his stomach, watching what looked like the scrambled playboy channel on the black and white television. He turned, taking Sam in, his flushed cheeks and mussed hair, his skin lit with sweat. Sam's lips were still kiss swollen, and Dean could feel himself harden immediately.

"Good run?"

Dean's voice was husky, giving away the desire that had washed over him as soon as Sam had walked in. Sam smirked at the sound of his voice, deeper than usual.

"Yeah. Great run, actually."

He smiled, handing the coffee to Dean, brushing their fingertips together. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the electric shock that passed through him as their skin met. Dean bit his lip so hard he swore he tasted blood as Sam's fingers passed over his. Sam always looked so messy, dirty, hot after a run, his skin flushed, kissed from the cold, his hair matted at the back. And Dean would be damned if it wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

"Sammy…"

His words came out on a strangled breath as he reached for Sam. Sam turned, bewildered, from putting sugars into his coffee—Dean swore he had added about six at this point—and looked at Dean carefully. Although his tone was sincere, Sam's eyes were lit with mischief as he looked Dean over.

"Are you alright?"

Dean was on his feet before Sam could blink, slamming Sam's back into the wall, spilling the coffee down the front of Sam's teeshirt—tight, white and semi-see through already, the coffee only adding to the problem—as he inhaled Sam's scent, musky and heady from running.

"What the fuck, dude! That's hot! And this is my last clean teeshirt—"

Dean smashed their lips together just to silence Sam, tasting coffee on Sam's tongue where he had sipped it to test the sweetness, their teeth catching in the sweetest, most electric kiss Dean had ever experienced. Sam moaned into the kiss, his hands escaping Dean's grip to trace over the muscles of his bare back. Dean groaned, grinding against Sam at the feeling of his hands on Dean's bare skin. Dean yanked at his teeshirt, frustration taking over to rip it cleanly down the centre when Sam didn't move fast enough. Sam hissed under his breath, bucking into Dean. Dean inhaled sharply,

"Dammit, Sammy, you like it rough?"

Sam bit his lip, the look in his eyes more than enough of an answer, but Dean held him firmly against the wall. Sam struggled wantonly, hardly putting up a fight at all, his eyes glazed,

"God, Dean, yes…"

Dean bit down hard on Sam's collarbone, rewarded by Sam's hips bucking up against his as he writhed against him. Dean guided Sam to the bed, lay him down and climbed on top, his weight pressing into Sam as he bent to kiss him, his fingers working the elastic of Sam's sweatpants. He swallowed Sam's moans into his mouth as they kissed, the sounds Sam was making more than enough to convince Dean that he would be a screamer with the right persuasion. That thought alone was enough to make Dean even harder than he already was, his cock aching against his jeans as he thrust against Sam. He wondered how many nights Sam had moaned into a pillow in the hotel room, kissing Sam bruisingly rough as he slid his pants off.

"Dean...want you to...need you..."

Dean groaned, knowing without hearing it exactly what Sam wanted. He yanked his jeans down, pushing them onto the floor as Sam arched up, his eyes blown black with lust.

"Please, Dean..."

Dean kissed Sam just to shut him up, hearing him beg almost enough to make Dean come undone. Sam shivered under his touch as he ran his fingers down his chest, over the planes of his abs, running his fingers through the grooves that had developed since he'd been away at Stanford. Dean shoved two fingers into Sam's mouth, using his other hand to yank his boxers off, throwing them in a pile on the ground. Dean grinned, blowing softly across the head of Sam's naked cock, hissing as Sam bit down inadvertently on his fingers, before he took Sam into his mouth, swallowing around him as Sam moaned, thrusting upwards to fuck his mouth. Dean swirled his tongue around Sam, groaning as Sam mirrored his motions, his tongue twirling around Dean's fingers, and the thought of having his mouth on Dean's cock made him ache. Sam thrust upwards harder,

"Please, Dean, fuck me..."

His words garbled by Dean's fingers. Dean nodded, sliding on saliva slicked finger against Sam's ass. He slid a single digit in, Sam's almost-scream nearly making him come undone.

"God, Sam...so beautiful like this for me..."

Dean whispered against Sam's ear, sliding in a second finger, scissoring Sam open. His fingertips brushed Sam's centre, pleasure sparking through Sam as he thrust himself hard down onto Dean's fingers, biting his lip to keep from screaming as he desperately sought the feeling again. Dean pulled his fingers out, placing his cock against Sam's entrance.

"Please, Dean...please..."

Sam's begging was all it took for Dean to come undone, and he buries himself inside Sam, loving the way his screams fill the motel room. Dean paused, buried in Sam, waiting for him to adjust.

"God, Dean, just...move..."

Sam ground out, fastening his fingers into the muscles of Dean's back.

"Please, you're not gonna break me, Dean..."

Dean groaned, and began thrusting into Sam, his tight, velvet heat pulling Dean in. Sam stared up at him, his eyes glazed and lust blown. Dean pulled all the way out, thrusting back in hard, hitting Sam's prostate on every thrust.

"Fuck, Dean..."

Sam muttered, incoherency taking over as he got close. Dean could feel the heat coiling in his own stomach, pooling as he thrust harder into Sam. His hands fastened onto Sam's hips, hands that would undoubtedly leave bruises. He jerked Sam up against him, forcing him to meet him thrust for thrust.

"God, Sam...so damn tight..."

Sam moaned, pulling Dean into him harder.

"Dean please...touch me...let me cum..."

Dean nodded, bit down on Sam's neck, his hand wrapping around Sam's aching cock. He stroked Sam hard, matching his thrusts.

"Oh God...Dean...gonna..."

Dean felt Sam's release between them, the look in his eyes as he came enough to send Dean over the edge, spilling his release hard into Sam. Dean collapsed on Sam, semi-rolling so that their bodies separated, pulling Sam into his arms as he drifted back to sleep.

"Mmm, love you, Sammy..."

"Mhmm...so much for waiting, Dean..."

Dean snickered as he surrendered to the world of dreams, knowing full well Sam had been planning this since he woke up.

...

Well, there you have it, kids...


End file.
